Everything Burns
by TheRumRunner
Summary: After TDK. Gotham's dark- cloaked hero plans his return after the Joker escapes Arkham. Original characters thrown into the chaos. RIP to the greatest Joker ever.
1. The Spark

Author's Note: This story takes place after The Dark knight. I do not claim these characters as my own and those I have created are not based on real persons living or dead. I have done my best to keep everyone in character. Enjoy.

**A small apartment not far from the Gotham City Narrows District **

The volume on the television was turned up just loud enough to be heard in the bathroom down the hall. She hurried to apply one more touch of dark scarlet colored lipstick and swept her long copper hair upwards with a single twist and a clip. The young woman switched off the bathroom light and walked quickly to the living room to watch the late edition of Gotham City News.

"Hello, I'm Mike Engel. The top stories around Gotham tonight are the acquisition of technology giant Sytech by Wayne Enterprises and the continuation of the mysterious fires around the city."

The woman reached eagerly for the television remote, turning the volume louder. A muffled banging erupted from behind a wall across the room. She rolled her eyes and gave the volume button another hard press to drown out the irate neighbor.

"But first, this just in," Engel announced with lines of concern etched deeply in his face. "Arkham Asylum officials are reporting that the Joker escaped from the institution an hour ago. Let's join this breaking story from our onsite reporter, Marla May, for further details."

The broadcast switched to a scene mobbed with reporters outside the asylum. Bright lights were focused on one area in particular. The center of interest was the Gotham City Police Commissioner, Jim Gordon. He raised his hand up to block the glare of the lights while answering questions from the news horde.

A silver digital recorder with the initials GCN was front and center and being held by Marla May. "Commissioner Gordon, where do you start to look for the Joker? Gotham is a big city."

"Right now any leads we get on the whereabouts or plans of the Joker are appreciated, but also confidential. Releasing such information at this time could jeopardize the investigation."

Marla was dissatisfied with his canned answer. "Commissioner do you expect the Batman to come out of exile to again apprehend the Joker?"

Gordon focused straight at the mass of cameras ahead. "If the Batman shows himself in Gotham City he will be brought into custody." Without another word he gently pushed his away past an annoyed Marla May and stepped into the waiting black unmarked police car.

"Well, Mike, there you have the latest on the Joker's escape according to Gotham police. I recommend that the citizens of Gotham keep their eyes open and their doors locked."

"I agree, Marla. Thank you for that report. Well be back shortly with the rest of today's top stories."

A knock sounded from the apartment door and a familiar voice called her name as the newscast switched to commercial. She was going to miss the report on the Gotham fires as her date was now here. She turned off the television with some hesitation and grabbed her long burgundy leather coat before opening the door for her boyfriend.

The twenty something man with a wiry build and dark slicked back hair stood smiling in the hallway. He was dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt and shabby blue jeans. His date eyed his appearance once over with some displeasure and stepped out of the apartment, giving the door a firm shut. The two then walked towards the elevator.

"Did you see that the Joker broke out?" The man broke the silence.

"I did."

"Yeah, but do you know how he got out?"

"No, but I suppose you'll tell me."

He ignored her cold disinterest. "I was in on it," he whispered with hushed excitement. "Me- I was part of the crew!"

She gave him a brief glance and lit a cigarette. He could tell she didn't believe a word. Something more was needed to convince her. "Here." The boyfriend reached into his pocket to produce a ruby pendent necklace framed on either side with diamonds. "That's for you. Now do you believe me? There's no way I could afford something like this on my asylum paycheck."

**Next Morning at the newly re-built Wayne mansion**

The time was six- thirty in the morning. Precisely six- thirty and Alfred, the Wayne's longtime butler, was bringing Bruce his breakfast. It did not matter if his employer and friend had been out all night partying or working in the lab. It was six- thirty and things must remain like clockwork in the household. It was his duty and frankly somewhat amusing daily ritual.

Alfred quietly placed the silver platter of cereal and orange juice on a beautiful antique wooden table and walked over to the large window, throwing back the curtains. The normally bright morning was dimmed a bit due to smoke from a fire in the woods on the outskirts of Gotham.

"Oh. Aaah…. Alfred…."

"Good Morning, Master Wayne."

"I'll agree with the morning part."

"It's important to start the day off right with a fine breakfast and optimism… as one never knows what the day holds."

Bruce sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "Do I have some kind of long, boring meeting this morning that you're trying to prepare me to attend, because that's why I have assistants, Alfred. They can send me an e-mail or something."

"No, sir," Alfred answered simply as he took a folded copy of the Gotham City newspaper from the breakfast tray and handed it to Bruce.

Bruce laid it open and was immediately locked onto the headline.

THE JOKER ESCAPES!

There was a long silence between the two men until Alfred turned to leave the room.

"What am I to do?"

Alfred stopped and faced him. He could sense the trouble in his friend's voice. The question wasn't about the Joker at all, but concerning his secret identity and its place in Gotham. "They need you and as always you will think of how best to approach the situation."

Bruce folded the paper in half and got out of bed. He held the paper up, waving it while thinking of what to say. "I can't…" he began, tossing the paper onto his nightstand. "This is Gordon's job. We had an agreement."

"Yes, the Commissioner admitted as much when I spoke to him last night. He called numerous times and I told him that I had searched everywhere for you. Not even Lucius knew of your whereabouts. Completely irresponsible of you, if I may say so, sir."

"I know, I'm sorry, but I haven't been sleeping well. I walked up to the old property and … lost track of time."

"You must move forward. Your place is here in the new house. Begin again."

"Just like that."

"Yes, Master Wayne. Just like that."

"Call Gordon. Tell him I'll meet him at the waterfront- pier number 18 in the old canning warehouse in an hour."

"Very good, sir."

"Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"It's kind of smoky outside. I noticed it last night and thought perhaps the city was clearing brush."

"Well as you know someone has been setting fires around the city lately. I'm inclined to believe it's teenage hoodlums with too much time on their hands."

Bruce quietly nodded in agreement. He stood there a moment longer, trying to make out the Gotham skyline. He contemplated destiny, omens and unfinished business.

**Old St. Mary's Catholic Church and Cemetery**

A variety of candles in different lengths and colors burned on the main alter inside the abandoned church. Satanic symbols and other spray painted graffiti cluttered the marble walls of the once beautiful cathedral. Through partially broken stained glass windows sunlight filtered in, but left most of the chapel in shadow.

A lanky figured dressed in a tailor made purple colored suit walked up to a statue of Christ on the cross. The man folded his arms across his chest and let out a deep sigh.

"So you're the guy who died for the sins of all mankind," he mockingly addressed the ivory marble icon as if it was a living person. "Wow, that's really impressive, except take a guy like me for instance. Even if you were a cat with nine lives, you probably couldn't die enough to save me could you." The tone of the voice was almost sincere this time. "Well come on, you're suppose to have all the answers. I'm waiting on a divine epiphany to save my soul. My path to sainthood!"

His angry voice echoed throughout the empty church. Still, there was no answer. Impatiently, he grabbed a nearby chair. He climbed on top of it and took something out of his pocket that he had found lying on the floor earlier. He shook the object side to side as the clang of a little metal ball rolled inside.

"It's quite depressing to think about. You live, die and face final judgment- that is according to you and the Big Man, of course. See- I have never been much for religion. No, I believe in letting the cards lie where they may. Your life is all about choice and never letting anyone make decisions for you. I do not fear death. One day it is lights out. You are done."

He stopped shaking the paint can, letting out another disappointing sigh. "You're a great listener and all, but a little boring. How millions of people could turn to you for answers for the last two thousand years is beyond me. I am glad we have had this little one- sided conversation though. If you don't mind I'd like to make an offering to show my respect to one so revered. I think you could use a little spontaneity."

He sprayed a crimson u- shaped line on the statue's mouth. "Let's put a smile on your face," he cackled in a deep whisper.

From behind the large main oak door opened and closed with a creaking sound. A young man entered, wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood up. "Boss?"

The man jumped down from the chair and tossed the spray can aside.

**Next the Gotham Waterfront**

**To be continued…**


	2. Smoulder

Author's Note: As always-- I've tried to keep everyone in character. Sometimes Batman myth changes to suit the story, but I really do not mess with it too much. Enjoy and thanks for the kind reviews! Sorry so short, but work comes early.

**Gotham Waterfront: Pier 18**

Bruce Wayne felt good about finally sharing his secret with Gordon. He had grown to trust the Commissioner through the work the two had completed together in the past. With the bat signal destroyed, it was almost a necessity that Gordon knew the truth. He had given him a cell phone invented by Lucius that was untraceable and to only contact him in the direst of situations.

Bruce opened the door to the deserted canning warehouse and stepped inside. As expected, Jim Gordon was there waiting.

"Hello."

"Good to see you again, Commissioner."

"Can we count on you?" Gordon asked directly.

Bruce put his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket and shrugged. "Yes, you can. I have been doing a lot of thinking about my place in the world. It's time to return." He paused. "This Joker-- no one knows him like I do."

The Commissioner nodded." And he knows you."

"That is why he'll show himself. We didn't finish what was started."

"What did he say to you on top of that building?"

"In short—one of us has to make a choice. Change the rules. We are at an impasse."

The two men thought about the situation. Finally, Gordon added. "Let's hope the right guy wins."

A faint smile crossed Bruce's face. He remembered the Joker told him that his one rule would have to be broken, but he was not going to let him decide where and when. If the Batman would break that sacred rule, he would save the deed specifically for the Joker. After all, Harvey Dent had died, but the man was now Two- Face and was very much alive in the deepest depths of Arkham Asylum.

"We'll wait for him to start the game again, Commissioner. I'll do what needs to be done."

"I don't like the idea of sitting around waiting for him to make the first move. We're putting the citizens in danger."

"Remember, it's me that he wants."

**Old St. Mary's Church and Cemetery**

The young man stood face to face with the man in the purple suit. "Boss, the Arab is waiting for you at in the backroom of the grocery store."

"I'll drive," said the Joker, taking the keys from his young associate. Half way to the door, he stopped dead and turned around. "Can I borrow your phone?"

"Sure." The young man placed his cell phone into the outstretched gloved hand.

"Thanks," he replied in a cold quiet voice. The Joker then revealed from his pocket a shard of glass from one of the broken stained glass windows. His movement was quick and fluid as the shard slid across the young man's throat.

The Joker looked up from the body to the statue of Christ. "He's your problem now."

**Rick's Tattoo Parlor and Piercing on the ****Corner of 147****th**** and Green Blvd.**

Bruce Wayne opened the door to the tattoo shop and a little bell rang from above the door. A red- headed girl was on her cell phone with a very displeased look on her face. Her boyfriend was not answering.

"Can I help you?" she asked, turning the phone off and placing it back into her purse.

Bruce hesitated a moment. "Yes… I'd like a tattoo."

The young lady looked him up and down. "Hey, you're that billionaire guy aren't you."

"Yeah… the billionaire guy."

"Cool. What would you like?"

Truthfully, Bruce Wayne had no idea. In fact, up until five minutes ago he was not even thinking about a tattoo. He passed the shop, drove around the block, and found himself here. "I'll leave that up to you. Just nothing too big or…,"

He stopped in mid sentence as he viewed pictures of past customers on the wall. Their tattoos were garish and dark.

"Maybe this isn't for you," she said.

"No, I want something… something meaningful." He took off his shirt and pointed to his right shoulder blade. "Can you put it here?"

The woman went to work using an outline and shading technique with black ink. When the tattoo was finished, she handed Bruce a mirror. "Tell me what you think."

He stood up and rolled his shoulder somewhat feeling the pain from the tattooing needle. After tilting the mirror, the tattoo came into view. It was of a woman, kneeing and holding an Egyptian ankh. On her back was a pair of partially open dragon- like wings. "It's beautiful. Why did you choose this design?"

The woman stopped cleaning her tools for a moment and approached Bruce with some surgical gauze to cover the tattoo. "I don't know. You seem like the type of person who is kind and cares about people, but you never let them get very close and you don't let them know you're looking out for them. So, I used a dark angel. The ankh, well-- that's eternity. You seem very spiritual to me and committed."

_How more right could she be?_

As they walked over to the counter, Bruce noticed her tattoos. The designs were mostly black and red, depicting symbols and flames. "Why did you choose your designs?"

"Tattoos can tell the story of a person's life. When something happens—good or bad, people use it to display or to cope with the event."

Bruce did not inquire further. He paid for the service and made his way back to Wayne mansion and the lab. He and Lucius had a lot of work to do.

**Part Three on the way!!**


	3. Ignition

Author's note: It's late, but I wanted to get a chapter off to keep interest. This part is a little more violent than the previous ones. Also—we learn a lot more about the Joker. Read on…

**Afahd's Grocery Loading Dock**

A tow motor was removing crates of fresh fruit from the dock area and stacking each box in rows of four crates high. Somewhere in the busy loading area impatiently stood the Joker. Periodically, he would grab an apple and peel it quickly with the newly acquired switchblade that happened to be in the glove box of his late associate's car.

Discarded spirals of apple peel lay sloppily at his feet and the naked fruit tossed haphazardly over his shoulder. A worker, wearing a t-shirt depicting a clutched fist and a flag, watched on. He could stand by no longer, marching over to the Joker angrily, cursing him in what was perhaps the Parsi dialect. This rude clown was wasting the literal fruits of his labor.

The Joker ignored the worker, peering around him instead to see if the big boss had yet arrived. Finally, he uttered to the irate worker, "Do you peel this easily?"

The worker gave a last gruff response and walked away. The man known only as the Arab had now entered the dock to do business. He was dressed in a sharp black suit and flagged on either side by half a dozen personal security guards in simple civilian clothes.

He gave the Joker no more than a cold glance, not surprised at the purple suit or painted face, and walked straight past into a room obscured by a secret door. Inside was a basic table with two chairs, dozens of Gotham city maps on the walls, automatic guns, and a few bars of gold resting on a reinforced metal shelf.

The Joker took careful stock of everything and everyone nearby. What kind of guy leaves gold laying around in a grocery store, he wondered, following the Arab and his guards into the room.

The Arab still had not spoke a word in English. He took a seat at the table and barked a few orders. One of the guards brought a map to the table and unfurled it for viewing.

It was time for the plan.

This treasure was more than the Joker could have hoped for when he agreed to meet the Arab. It would surely give him the means to get the Batman's attention and crumble Gotham in a big way. Inside his sick mind the wheels of chaos were spinning, churning out endless scenarios leading to mayhem on a large scale.

The Arab observed the madman's unspoken bliss. He could see the potential for destruction coming together behind the dark eyes of the costumed fiend.

"You came highly recommended. We have need of your methods."

"Of course you do." The Joker blurted out, coming out of his psychotic reverie briefly.

"So, what do you propose?"

Placing one gloved hand on either side on the map, the Joker shot up from the table. The Arab's guards reached for their guns and moved in a step to protect the boss. The Joker paid them no mind.

"You and I. We—your people…we believe in similar ways of making a point."

"In a way, yes. There is only one way to bring the Infidels to their knees."

"If given the right materials and … volunteers," the Joker added eying a few of the guards with a stifled laugh a twitching smile. "If I had all of these resources, Gotham would be dust in a week."

"I'm listening. Where are your targets?"

"First we attack the infrastructure—subways, airports and utility companies. Then—financial centers-- banks—and industry. Say, Wayne Enterprise for example."

"If you accomplish all of this I will make you a very rich man."

The Joker smiled and took his seat again at the table. "I only accept payment in petroleum based products. Do you think you could put a couple bucks on my gas card?"

The two men laughed. With an agreement reached, the plan was underway.

**Rooftop of the Gotham City Police Department**

Commissioner Jim Gordon watched the last orange rays of the sun disappear between the skyscrapers of the city. An unsettling peace took hold over an otherwise beautiful scene. Where and when would the Joker strike again?

Gordon walked over to the destroyed bat signal and kicked around the glass shards with his foot. He then took out the special phone given to him by Bruce and rubbed the smooth surface with his thumb. He and he alone possessed the code to unlock the phone.

Far below in the most crime ridden districts his trusted police squad was searching for the Joker. Nothing had turned up that was a concrete lead other than the body of a young man in the abandoned St. Mary's church. His officers reported a smile similar to the Joker's painted on a statue, but nothing more. For all they knew kids were copying the murderer. As to the identity of the young man, it was unknown. His wallet and anything else he possessed to provide a clue were gone and no fingerprints left behind on the glass used to kill him.

In the Commissioner's jacket pocket, his personal phone played Fur Elise from Beethoven. It was his wife calling. She wanted him home for dinner. It was spaghetti night, a Gordon household favorite.

**The Lab somewhere underneath Wayne Manor**

It was after ten o'clock at night when Lucius Fox strode into the lab. "All ready to burn the midnight oil, Mr. Wayne," he announced as his voice echoed in the vast room. There was no answer. His employer was lost in thought and appeared to be frustrated. Bruce was performing tests on yet another bat suit. By the marks on the few suits undergoing testing, Lucius surmised that the experiments centered on fire and cutting weapons. These were the tools of a certain at large sociopath. The R&D specialist took a seat at his work area and turned on multiple computer systems. Lucius typed in his password and opened various files containing architectural plans for Wayne Enterprises.

After an hour passed, Bruce stepped away from his project to clear his head. "What's this," he asked.

"I'm reinforcing security at headquarters. With the Joker out, one can never be too protected."

The billionaire studied the schematics of the security system on the screen. Lucius was an amazing inventor and he was thankful to have him as a trusted friend. "You think he'd really try it?'

Lucius did not answer right away. The two men stared at the moving diagrams displayed on four different monitors. "Mr. Wayne, it's been too quiet. He's planning something big and I can feel it in my old bones."

"What's bigger than Wayne Enterprises?" Bruce's statement hung eerily unanswered in the large room. He felt as if the walls were closing in.

**The Boyfriend's Apartment**

The red haired young woman was again watching the late evening GCN broadcast. This time the Gotham fires were the top story. Mike Engel sent Marla May on location to a nursing home on 152nd by the park. So far 100 residents and staff evacuated, but numerous persons were unaccounted for and feared to be victims of the latest arson.

A key turned the lock on the door leading into the apartment. A figured stepped into a short entranceway that connected to a dark room lit by the television. The door shut quietly.

Images of fireman, nursing home officials and police flashed across the screen. The woman jumped up from the sofa still focusing on the horrific event playing out.

"Well, finally something worth reporting. That Joker is an amateur compared to what I can do to this city! Where the hell have you been all day? I could have used you. Let me guess—you were with that clown," she added particularly strong sarcastic emphasis on the last word.

No one answered.

"Fine. Be a jerk. I'm going to go take a shower." The woman tossed her metal lighter on to the coffee table and stormed off to the bathroom. The water began to run from the showerhead, drowning out the fact the television had turned off.

A gloved hand picked up the lighter and traced the symbol etched on its surface. It was the letter 'A' off center in a circle. It was the symbol of anarchy. In the other gloved hand rested a switchblade. It was plain with no ornate markings. Dissimilar objects yet either wielded by a capable hand were tools of chaos.

About ten minutes had passed and the woman turned off the shower and reached for a towel to dry off. She wrapped it around her body and swept her copper hair up with a plastic hair clip.

After drying off, she walked to a smaller area of the bathroom where the sink and mirror was located. As she switched on the light, an image on the mirror startled her. Someone had taken her red lipstick and scribbled a grotesque smile and eyes on the mirror.

From behind, a firm hand grabbed her by the hair and rammed her head into the mirror, cracking the glass.

"Hey damn it," she yelled swinging her arms wildly in protest.

Another hand reached for her back with a more gentle touch. It traced an image across her back.

The woman trying to calm herself spoke to her assailant. "It's a phoenix—a mythical bird that rises from the ashes. The process is scarification."

The grip loosened and she slowly turned around.

"Isn't it beautiful… scars?" Her voice was nothing more than a shaky whisper as the Joker pressed his blade to her throat.

There was nothing random about this meeting. Could he have found his equal in this little girl? His thoughts lost in her eyes and he studied her from the inside out. He never saw the syringe filled with a watered down street version of Crane's drug resting on the sink ledge.

The room around him grew dark and cluttered with warped terrifying images.

"Nighty night, funny man."

**A half hour later**

The Joker was still screaming, but becoming more lucid by the minute. For a person in his situation this was as close to sane as he was likely to become.

"Jack, you're a real card," she mused flicking one of his trademark joker cards off his chest. "Your pillow talk is a real turn on… Jack."

That name was so familiar. Was it his true name or some gibberish that he muttered? The Joker could not be sure. Jack. Jack. Jack. Who was he? His head ached and he felt nauseous from the drug. A decade was passing before his eyes. He was sitting at a table with a beer, playing poker with his friends. There was a bright flash of light, yelling, and explosions and in the next moment, he was staring up at the present and his captor.

The young woman was jumping on the bed around his feet, mocking him. She stopped and dropped down to straddle his legs with her face slowly coming into focus in the dimly lit room.

The Joker let out one of his trademark laughs. The sight was too funny for him not to enjoy despite his current predicament. She had painted her face exactly like his.

"Tables turned, Jack." She held up a mirror to reveal his clean face. It frightened him at first and he averted his eyes. It was only for a moment. This girl was not going to embarrass him with her little game. He focused his cold, dark eyes on the image in the unforgiving mirror, making another attempt to break free from his restraints.

"When I get out of here, sweetheart, I'm going to cut you into ribbons and decorate the room," he hissed.

She tossed the mirror away and it made a dull thud on the carpet. "Promises, promises. Guys are full of them."

"I'm a man of my word!"

"I bet you are, Jack."

"Stop calling me that. Let's go with Mr. J."

"Okay-- I'll play fair. My name is Jaime, but my friends call me Red."

The Joker stared at the ceiling, giving the impression of being bored, all the while still working at trying to loosen the belts strapping him to the bed. The rage was multiplying in his body by the second.

Red extended her body over his own, reaching up and giving the belts another firm tug to tighten them.

"Owww," he purred in a whiny voice. "That will bruise."

With one pale finger, she traced the outlines of the horrible scars around his mouth. "They're so beautiful."

"Think so? If you let me up I'll give you some of your very own." He snapped his teeth toward her finger that she yanked back just out of his bite's reach.

"What I can't figure out is why you're helping the Arab. It was his people that gave you these scars, Jack."

A flurry of thoughts swam in his head. First of which was his damning of Crane and the drug he had created. Next was his disappointment in himself for being so easy to crack. Lastly, he could not make up stories anymore about the scars. At least not with her around and that situation was going to be rectified shortly as soon as he got the chance.

The scars he tried so hard to hide now had an origin. He remembered the Arabs and his three tours in the Gulf too. IEDs and sniper fire were his daily nightmares. Images of explosions and blood washed over him. He was there with a top-secret squad to assassinate a tribal official. The pain came in waves and his mouth curled in memory of the knife slashing apart the skin. The government learned of the mission's failure and left his squad to perish. Everyone around him was blown to bits or tortured.

It was in the middle of the Iraqi dessert where the Joker was born.

Anger brought him back to the present once again.

Red rose from the bed and returned to the bathroom to wash her face and put on a change of clothes from the red satin robe she had been wearing. She did not worry about him busting out, as the belts were tight enough to almost cut off circulation and the drug still had a hold of him. Minutes later she reappeared, wearing her trademark long burgundy leather coat. In her hand was his switchblade, which she placed just out of his grasp. In her other hand, she waved the anarchy lighter in front of his face.

"Just to make things interesting." She sauntered across the room and flicked the flint wheel a couple times until a flame appeared. Her pale hand reached into a trashcan, igniting the papers inside.

"If you don't escape you'll either burn to death or Gotham's finest fire brigade will rescue you." Halfway to the door she looked back at him. "I do hope you make it. I look forward to one upping your plans."

He licked at his lips feverishly and eyed her with all the ill wishes possible.

Red laughed the whole way out the door and down the hallway to the stairs leading out into the street. The Joker waited patiently, not concerned in the least by the fire or the alarms starting to ring throughout the apartment complex. With a firm tap of his heel, a blade appeared from the boot tip. He swung his leg up and over above a couple times until he cut the belt on one wrist.

She had no idea how close to death she had come. For now the plan was to destroy Gotham and kill the Batman. Once the Arab paid up, he would be next on the casualty list. Red could light all the fires she wanted, he mused, because that is just the kind of random mayhem that was the pretty ground show before the main fireworks started.

**Chapter 4 in a bit… perhaps a week… lot's going on in life at the moment. Thanks for reading!**


	4. Flicker

**A/N:** It's short, I know, but it's also 3 am my time. Enjoy. A proper chapter will arrive over the weekend. There will be new characters and a completely different dimension. (Think-- aggressive expansion.) Thanks to everyone who has tagged my story and to the Batman fans for their words of wisdom here and for my other writings. No Mary Sue OC—just stick with it. Trust me. The only way to expand the Batman fan universe is to add characters.

**A very tall building ledge at 141****st**** and Kendrick**

Batman peered down at the dark street. A big knot of reservation and nerves settled firmly in his stomach. Somewhere below Lucius Fox was watching on. It was his voice coming from the micro receiver in the Dark Knight's ear.

"Ready," said Lucius.

"Of course," he answered.

Batman was ready, but perhaps Bruce Wayne was not.

"You've done this a hundred times."

"I know."

Off in the distance a convoy of fire trucks raced across the city. Further still, a reddish glow reflected from the low clouds hanging over Gotham. Using the zoom option in his night optic gear, Batman adjusted to gain a better look at the situation. "I'll meet you back at the lab," he said, flying off towards the scene of interest.

Lucius watched as a dark shadow quickly sprang from the ledge and sailed gracefully away. He keyed the mic one more time. "Remember, item X hasn't been tested yet."

There was no response.

**A Fully Engaged Fire at the Gotham Haven for the Homeless**

Fireman Mike O' Grady ran towards a fire hydrant on the corner to attach the hose. Once everything was in place, the hose expanded and a welcomed sight of water rained down on the flames. It was mid- December and the water runoff was quickly freezing on the street and sidewalks. The evacuated dozens of homeless huddled together for warmth, wrapped in donated blankets from a local charity.

As always, Gotham News was first on the scene. Marla May was a busy reporter tonight. First, she reported from an apartment fire and now she and her crew were here. Praying for a little luck and using a nudge or two, she made her way through mass of police, fire, and medical emergency crews to grab a good sound bite from one of the displaced residents. Security was tight as the police scanned the area for the arsonist.

In amongst Gotham police cruisers, Jim Gordon scanned the sky. He had not placed a call to the Dark Knight, but had a feeling he was nearby the scene. This fire business was getting out of hand and would surely gain his attention. With all the lights and smoke, he could not see very well. He removed his glasses and wiped the water mist from the lenses. "Eh, maybe I need a new prescription," he muttered to himself.

A red headed woman approached the Commissioner. She was pushing a very fast looking red motorcycle and had an equally red helmet stuffed under her arm. "What's going on here, Chief?

Gordon put his glasses back on and turned his attention to the young woman and then to her mode of transportation. "Is that thing legal?"

"Beats me," she shrugged.

"Well why don't you take it on out of here. This is an active scene. You need to get back behind the barricade." Gordon pointed at an officer then to the woman.

Her welcome was worn out and she left the area, but not before lifting the Commissioner's wallet. As soon as she cleared the crowd, the woman put on her helmet and mounted her cycle, speeding off into a dark secluded alley. The crimson clad cyclist was unaware of her follower high above.

When she felt she was far enough away, she glanced at the driver's license and memorized his home address. This would come in handy later on in the grand scheme of things. To make it appear like a robbery she lifted the thirty-five dollars from inside the wallet and tossed it to the ground. Before she had time to hop on her motorcycle, a dark figured dropped from a nearby fire escape.

"Give back the money," a gravelly voice ordered from the darkness.

"Finders keepers," she teased, waving the cash.

From the shadows the Batman appeared.

"Wow—the Bat." She was not impressed.

He did not have time for her bad attitude or petty crime. Instantly, a cable shot out from his wrist gear and wrapped around her arm, pulling the woman closer. As they stood inches apart, face-to-face, he reached to lift the visor on the helmet. He had not seen her face very well from above the crowd.

There was no way she was going to let him know her identity. The mystery cyclist had a few talents to try out on the Dark Knight. With a swift punch, she nailed him right under the chin, sending him backwards a few steps. The woman ripped off the cable on her arm and came at him with a series of punches and kicks.

It was not his kind of thing to hit a woman, but she was a criminal and had to face justice. He would fight her defensively and use a couple of his gadgets to bring her under control. The volley of martial arts continued for a short time until he had her in a position to sweep her legs and tie her wrists together. "Calm down and sit still. It will hurt less," he ordered in a calm voice.

"No pain. No gain," she replied, flexing her wrists and hands until four needles appeared from her leather riding gloves. She kneed him hard in the side and rolled over on top of him. Balling her fists, the thief drove the thick needles through the tough material of his suit and into his arms. As her fingers extended, Crane's drug flowed into his bloodstream.

"My issue isn't with you, Batty. As you said before, just relax and it won't hurt as much. You should be as good as new in… twenty minutes."

The woman ran to her motorcycle and stopped with a last word. "If you see the Joker, tell him Pyra sends her regards."

**The Vacant Apartment over the Arab's Grocery**

A tall figure stood by the window, taking in the view of the Gotham skyline. The man could smell the smoke drifting over the city even inside the apartment. In his one hand, he calmly twirled a switchblade.

A knock came from the door and the Arab entered. "Do you know what time it is?"

"It's time we move. Get everything ready for the first wave to start at 8 o'clock."

The Arab stood a safe distance from the Joker. He did not appreciate the knife display especially since he was about to protest the short notice. "That is only four hours away. It is not so simple to put into motion."

The Joker shot a momentary glare of annoyance at the Arab. "I am a man of my word and when I give the word I expect results."

Waving his hands in the air the Arab complied. "Fine, let me make the calls. You shall have our full cooperation."

The Joker ignored him and continued to cast an angry, but determined gaze toward the waning fire scene. In a very low voice, he whispered, "Nice opening act, but it's time for the real talent to take the stage."

With a flick of his wrist the blade of the knife buried itself in the windowsill.

**Okay—that's all until the weekend. Hope you enjoyed it. Thanks again for reading.**


	5. Flame

**A/N:** Let me apologize for the short length of this chapter. Some rather stressful situations are occurring in real life—and then I am gone for a week's vacation. (mercifully!) Please enjoy what I have added for Chapter 5. Thank you for staying with the slow pace of my updates. This little installment should advance the story nicely.

**The Lab at Wayne Mansion**

**5:45 a.m.**

The winter sun had not yet risen when Bruce Wayne staggered into the hidden technology lab with his head still swimming from the effects of the toxin. On his way home, he placed a call to Lucius Fox to meet him at the lab with the Crane antidote ready. Wayne's instructions were for Lucius to create a drink of sorts for him to take to combat the street version of Crane's drug. He wanted to be able to take it daily.

As he entered the lab, his butler, Alfred was also waiting.

"Good morning, Master Wayne."

"It's not a good morning, Alfred."

"Ah, yes Sir, Mr. Fox here has kindly informed me of the highlights of your evening."

Bruce removed his mask and gloves and took a seat by a panoramic monitor scene that showed various parts of Gotham. He rolled his neck and shoulders, trying to loosen up. "Alfred, I need you to search criminal records of any females suspected or convicted of arson over the past ten years."

"Will do, Sir."

Immediately, Alfred took to the task at a computer with access to Gotham police records. About ten minutes had passed and a list of one hundred and fifty profiles appeared on the screen. Alfred announced the results.

His employer rolled closer on the computer chair and scrutinized the list. "Narrow the selection to women between the ages of 18 and 25," Bruce instructed.

The list shrunk to thirty persons of interest.

"Refine it further by those possessing a motorcycle license."

One record blinked on the screen and Alfred read the name aloud.

"Jaime Stevens. A woman aged twenty- three.

Bruce read further.

_Ms. Stevens lived at the Blessed Home of Orphans from age eight until seventeen. Her mother, Madeline Stevens, was a single parent. Under the pressures of raising a child and living on little income, Madeline suffered a mental breakdown and set fire to the family's small apartment located in the Smith Towers complex. Madeline Stevens died in the fire, but Jaime survived due to the efforts of the GFD. Gotham Hospital psychologists visited Jaime during her time at the orphanage. It was determined that the young woman suffered from the incident. During her first few years at the orphanage, Jaime exhibited a fascination with fire and started numerous small blazes in and on the grounds of the orphanage. Attempts to move her into a family setting in a stable foster home were also failures. The dangerous behavior of setting fires continued until the age of sixteen. Jaimie is a bright young lady. She graduated early and then quickly accepted by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. While at the university she majored in chemical engineering. Again, Jaime graduated after completing accelerated studies. Her records would have been restricted under Gotham Protection of Minors code, but Ms. Stevens still poses a large enough threat to keep her records open._

After reading, Bruce clicked on an option the view Jaime's photo. His eyes met those of the woman in the mug shot. He knew her from somewhere.

_Think, Bruce, think…_

He reached his hand back to his shoulder blade and remembered the girl from the tattoo parlor a few days ago. It was the same person.

Before he had a chance to delve into the situation further, the cell phone that connected Commissioner Gordon to Batman rang. It was six- twenty in the morning as Bruce looked at his watch. "Hello," he answered the phone.

"Gordon here. We've got a problem."

"The Joker?"

"No, something worse. I don't know—maybe he's in on it."

"Does this concern the fires in the city?"

"Bigger. We've received word from the Feds that they've picked up Internet chatter concerning various acts of terrorism to be executed in Gotham. The messages originate from the Middle East."

"What are the targets," Bruce pressed, reaching for his gloves and mask.

"It wasn't specific other than hitting our city and citizens in the most vulnerable places."

"I'll meet you at our usual place at the canning warehouse. It's time to switch shifts and work in the daylight."

**Mr. Yin's Chinese Restaurant**

Jaime quietly glided with the engine off on her motorcycle. She parked the bike and dismounted. Through an unlocked employee entrance, she entered the kitchen area of a Chinese restaurant. The establishment, normally closed at this hour, always had food on hand. Without a thought regarding the absent chef or staff, she opened the door to a large stainless steel refrigerator to grab an egg roll to eat. She had built up quite an appetite after working all evening.

After finishing the small treat, she exited the kitchen and proceeded down a short hallway decorated with a bright red carpet and walls displaying an Oriental print. At the end of the hall, there was a black metal door. She rang the small round buzzer located near the door's edge on the wall.

Someone peered through a view hole and unlocked the door, letting her inside. It was a Chinese man dressed in black leather.

"Mr. Yin is waiting for you," he said.

Jaime nodded in acknowledgement and traveled through a few more hallways and rooms until she reach a large room with very ornate décor. Mr. Yin sat at the opposite side of the room behind a large wooden desk.

She bowed slightly and approached. The woman disliked all the ridiculous politeness and signs of respect. Yin was a thug pure and simple.

"I heard you had a job for me," she said.

Yin rolled two metal relaxation balls in his hand and leaned back in his chair. Not for a moment did he remove his eyes from her presence. "Yes, but first let me congratulate you on your recent… activities."

Jaime shrugged, hoping the Chinese mobster would get to his point soon.

"I'm sure you know of the Arab."

"I do."

"The man owes me quite a bit of money from dealings overseas, specifically in the Middle East where I supplied his army with weapons and cash."

"Do you want me to take him out?"

Mr. Yin gave a brief laugh, "No, I want you to meddle in his plans. Perhaps that will be enough for him to see that I am serious about claiming repayment. If those methods do not work then we will seek a final solution to the dilemma."

The woman nodded, "Sure, where do I start?"

"The first of his plans is due to go off this morning. We have received word from trusted associates inside the Gotham police department. I have supplied you with a small group of my men to assist your efforts. There isn't much time—go quickly to the vacant lot located two blocks from here."

Understanding her orders, Jaime turned to leave. As she reached the door, she looked back at Mr. Yin. "Anything else I should know."

Yin stood from his desk and placed the relaxation items in a wooden satin-lined box. He did not answer right away. "Our police associates also believe the Arab is being assisted by a rather notorious clown. Quite silly."

Jaime held back a smile and did not tell Mr. Yin that she and 'the clown' had already met. She left the room quickly, looking forward to a second round with the Joker.

**Hope to write more before the end of August. Thanks again for sticking with the story. Wish I had more time. **


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